


Rime of the Nascent Mariner

by Soren_Tycho



Category: The Care and Feeding of Magical Creatures
Genre: Anal Sex, Boat Sex, Boats and Ships, Demonic Possession, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Fantasy Sex, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other, Pygmalion, School, Sex, Sex Magic, Sexual Fantasy, Succubi & Incubi, The Care and Feeding of Magical Creatures - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soren_Tycho/pseuds/Soren_Tycho
Summary: Rada wants nothing more than to incubate a succubus, but it's well past what should have been graduation day and all the school's very...complete instruction hasn't gotten her to implant a seed, so drastic measures are in order.





	Rime of the Nascent Mariner

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Care and Feeding of Magical Creatures](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061161) by [Soren_Tycho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soren_Tycho/pseuds/Soren_Tycho). 



Rada sat alone on the top of the hill, fidgeting in the dawning sunlight, exhausted. Up a whole day and night now, focusing, teasing. She felt young today - sometimes she did and when she mentioned it her mentor would always say some infuriating thing about having just ripened even though she was one of the oldest people around the school at twenty summers. Anyway, she'd been studying since she was a little girl and had known exactly what was going on the day her first climax had come and had been able to name all the stages of the ascent as she played her awakening body blissfully through them and _that_ had sure been a while ago so yes, thank you, she was plenty ripe, thank you, _and_ she liked to think she knew how to play by now.

If only the seed-ghosts would think so. She gasped, suddenly, as she had this thought, but it was only the caress of a passing breeze, already warm with the summer sun, touching her bare and painfully-erect nipples. They were sensitive most days what with one thing and another: she'd signed up very determinedly for induced incubation and once she'd convinced the teachers it really was what she wanted - better this way, even if the ghost would have come to her on its own - she hadn't been disappointed, finding her version of the curriculum salted with all sorts of extra dreaming-fodder and plenty of lonely nights when they separated her from her bedmate - a sweet blonde thing with pert breasts and a red birthmark splashed over her left shoulder - whom she had convinced to sign up with her.

This last might have been a bad idea. Usually your bedmate _was_ your main dreaming-fodder for obvious reasons, and by the time they'd both Discerned and been signed up for induced incubation (Rada had started all this on the first day of school, which was why they'd taken _so long_ deciding) she'd had a few weeks to get into the habit and the teachers had arranged lots of opportunities for the two of them to watch the other one practice technique, or read stories with a really obvious subject, or any number of other fun things only to find later _after_ they'd had some time to dream of each other that they'd both been assigned a lonely night and a big book of dreamskins.

The book was good, and at least you were allowed to keep your toys on lonely nights - they even provided ones to replace those the two shared but couldn't when they weren't sharing a bed - but if this didn't bring a seed _nothing_ would. Oh the fantasies she made, those nights.

It still didn't bring a seed.

The wind shifted, finding its way between her legs, and with it her reminiscence changed. That first day, her first climax, heart pounding when she realized what it meant to feel the strange sweetness looking at the older kids playing in the surf and then the song of her body when a hand drifted as she watched them wrestle in the shallows. One of them was her first real-person fantasy and it was their secret - he actually blushed when she'd asked if she could use him that way.

_She_ hadn't blushed, which even surprised her. The first fantasy-request was always full of awkwardness in the stories she'd read.

And then, infuriatingly, he'd asked if she wasn't a little young to be thinking about that yet. What did he expect? You had to be ready! It could come any time! It had been useful in the end because after he'd blushingly said yes anyway she'd spent the rest of the day working out a fantasy about putting him in his place for this impertinence and although looking back it was all completely silly - she was completely wrong about how his body would work, among other things - it had been a pretty fun and very clear way to figure out she was a dom of _some_ kind.

Childhood. She sighed happily, and cracked the tired knuckles of her hand that had been drifting in habit toward her cunt. This was tired too, or maybe just a little overstimulated, but she was still unsatisfied. She'd made sure of this, even laid out her best wand with the angled handle and ridge around the middle for a harness to grip it on the grass in front of her to taunt herself with - she'd hadn't allowed herself this, or any penetration at all, anywhere but her fantasies, and she was trying to minimize doing anything but teasing here where her body was and so she felt like she would cry, or scream, or suddenly find herself running back down the hill to hurl herself upon the first freetime practice she saw especially if there were cocks to be had and so she smiled, excited: she'd never felt this way before. She'd known she was lustful from a young age but this was new and she was a bit proud at the way she shivered in desperation when she ran the drifting hand instead over her bare body, excited: surely, this would bring a seed. You just needed to wish hard enough, so, _Wish_ , Rada.

Instead she found herself remembering as she looked at the wand, times when her bedmate had teased at Rada's glee in the use of wands that Rada would come back from her first playtime with a succubus sporting an actual cock of flesh, but of course this hadn't happened after dozens of encounters and plenty of nectar and if one wasn't growing on her now after the amount of nectar she'd had these past few days, well, Rada knew who Rada was, even if her bedmate was in doubt. Mostly the memory stuck with her because it was quite a thing to say while you were bound and getting pegged, and even more a thing to say it again - and again - after how Rada had taken care of the situation the first time. Rada grinned, wistful: her bedmate was so cutely obvious. Usually something more would come of relationship like that, but they both knew where Rada's heart--and cunt--were.

Still no seed came. She thumbed her nipple a moment longer, and then dropped her hand to her lap. She knew the problem: you met the seeds in waking dreams, those fantasies you wanted to fulfill hard enough that you'd try to make them real and cast the dreaming of their happening out into the void of Open Dream instead of dreaming them inside your soul, out into the void where the seeds could meet them and be in them and come to you through the dream. That was why the pictures and stories in the book were called dreamskins: the dreams were like fruit, and the skins showed you where the fruit was by showing you what you could dream, and then you'd eat the fruit by dreaming the dream and take the seed into yourself just like if you were eating physical fruit from a tree. Seeds could be anywhere, in any dream, if you wanted them to be enough. So that was the problem: Rada liked the dreamskins well enough, especially the pictures, but they didn't take her into a dream really. She didn't actually eat the fruit. "Very much in the here and now" her teachers were always saying about her, and she liked that because they meant she was good at sailing and great with toys and sex but now, just this once, she needed to dream somewhere else, and she couldn't do it.

Her mentor said this wasn't the actual problem, and got annoyingly mysterious about it, but Rada disagreed.

There were all sorts of techniques for dealing with this, and Rada didn't like any of them. They were still all about getting yourself to try and exist somewhere else - that _was_ how it worked - and she really was a here-and-now kind of person. She was _great_ at thinking of fun things to do as soon as there was a willing partner or three in front of her - especially if they were at all submissive - but coming up with dreams or going into dreams or existing in dreams just wasn't her.

She wished you could just meet a seed here and now. Succubi came to the school all the time looking for new prey and of course she'd played with them and thought about it (some were young and had lost their incubators, and these always made her so sad she almost adopted them), but she wanted a seed of her own. She wanted to know what the ghost would make her and she wanted the adventure of incubation.

Something moved by her knee, and she looked down, suddenly startled from her thoughts: she'd been using a Deep Image Deck to try and make up dreams during the night, maybe find one she _could_ go into, and it was still sitting there on the grass, and the wind had just picked up the top few cards and tossed them down again in front of her, face-up. In the center of this impromptu spread was the Magician, staring up at her, and Rada thought: what if there _was_ a here-and-now dream she could go into?

On the card he looked like he was _trying_ to get struck by lightning, especially in this interpretation of the images with a big swirling cloud of all the elements over his head to match the elements represented by the Wand, Knife, Cup, and Crystal on the table in front of him.

But wasn't that the point? Reaching out to the elements so he could channel their power into his spell.

Rada thought, and looked out at the sea. It was like she was stuck, stuck here-and-now yet full of dreams. So full of dreams they were leaking out on the mat under her, heh. She felt underneath herself: yes, literally, her mat was wet with her dreams, just a little, but it was there.

She knew what to do. Now, the question was, _how_?

* * *

In the end it was so obvious she was too busy feeling silly for not seeing it from the start to feel silly for what she was doing.

Of course there was a here-and-now dream you could go into. It was as plain as the sea.

She pelted down the beach, excited, and when her boat came into view she smirked the smirk that made her submissive classmates stumble over their words when they were playing.

A huge breaker doused her head-to-toe as she pushed her tiny sloop into the waves and left her with a bit of a bailing job. The former, at least, didn't matter: you didn't generally go to sea planning not to get wet, but coming down from the hill she'd grabbed nothing but her favorite wand and so didn't have any clothes to _get_ wet.

It was strange - she was alone here on the beach, and yet despite her usual disregard of clothing she felt naked, strangely and painfully visible as she launched.

Her suncloak (glittering and waterproof) was stowed safely along with the keg of thick, intense nectar she'd gotten and saved from a Wellspring who'd come to visit the school one day and found what she was looking for in Rada's "already surprisingly capable" hands (these two items being somehow too precious to her to be kept other than hidden away here). It was also under the seat across the transom, where Rada could sit and think about that right under her cunt and how living off that for a few days would make her feel, which was really its main purpose being there beyond a memento of a particularly sweet fling: she never went out of sight of land in this boat.

Until today.

* * *

In retrospect, launching when she could see dark clouds on the horizon had probably been a bad idea. On the other hand, the storm _had_ been a wild ride and blown her nicely out to sea. Now she was sleeping in the bottom of the boat - during the storm she'd already reefed every inch of sail leaving the mast as naked as herself - suncloak thrown over herself to stop herself getting burned, as the heat of the day blistered past.

She hadn't even bothered to drop anchor. There was no point, she was already totally lost, who cared where she drifted and a boat this tiny didn't care about running aground on the sandbars that were the only land nearby.

Hot days always made her horny, pulling on some deep old instinct to fuck during the summer. Good, that'd come in handy tonight. She sipped a few drops from the keg of nectar - it was strong stuff and so the hole to drink through was tiny - and went back to sleep knowing she'd want to be awake when the sun wasn't out.

The sun beat down, heating the wood around her and the lust inside her.

* * *

Rada woke to moonlight, and gentle ocean waves, and the smell of sun-baked wood and hot varnish around her. She stirred, and rolled over, comforted: she was a little sore from the lack of a bed, but she loved this little boat and had spent more than one night in it when her assignations went awry and she couldn't face her bedmate's easy glee in her own more simple affairs and so knew the knack of nestling into the curve of the hull so as to wake up refreshed even without so much as a pillow. She was fortunate, she thought, to have gotten a boat with leeboards outside the hull instead of a retractable keel sticking out of the best sleeping spot inside.

She sighed a sort of cooing sigh, cast the suncloak aside and then gathered it into a bundle to stow. Her body reminded her, vociferously, as she moved of the heat of the day that seemed to have baked itself into her cunt, of the fact that this would be day eight in a row surviving solely on nectar, and that it would be now somewhere around a full day since she'd come.

All the texts and her teachers said that nectar plus denial just meant the nectar would work harder on you if there was any effect at all, and that mostly at getting you to fuck _something_. All her classmates said the rumor was that if you went far enough you'd turn into your preferred partner-gender because your desire to have a body like that around would finally overwrite your sense of self, which always made Rada smile because she didn't have a preferred gender. She didn't say this, of course: everyone knew nobody was _exactly_ in the middle, but Rada knew _she_ was.

Probably.

In any case, what she knew now was that she had needed to be horny and had at that _succeeded_. So, now what? She still hadn't quite thought this through, though she had the general outlines. The first step had just been to get out of sight of land before she thought the better of any of this.

She sat up, propping herself on one hand, and looked around. Deserted, full moon beaming down, second and third moons still eclipsed. Good.

And yet, as she opened the little compartment under the transom-seat to take out her wand and start preparing, her cheeks burned, and she felt shy, sheepish, found herself looking around again as if she'd find a Sadish ferry bursting out of the waves (how silly to think of any preyworld having enough wind for a kiteship, she thought, trying to distract herself).

She didn't usually get self-conscious this way, but this was an old and tender fantasy and something about its nearness to her love of the sea and sailing made her feel skinless, vulnerable, as she prepared things. It was strange. This was exactly, really, what everyone probably would have expected her to do in the end, and it wasn't like she was in one of the horrorshows about lost planets where people would have derided her for crossing this line, and yet even so this just made it feel all the more delicate, like the wish that had burned so brightly within her for so many years now was a puff of smoke that could blow away in the wind of even the _thought_ of someone's gaze.

But Rada was _educated_. She was _ready_  for that. Under her breath, she started to chant, murmuring the words only to herself.

_"I am Sade. No perversion done in love is too twisted to commit."_ Usually she also had at least some kind of a plan going into a scene and she supposed she _did_ have enough of a framework for one to come this far, but it was vague at best and that had been as far as she could get. Even now, she could feel herself poising, ready to suddenly turn back from all this in embarrassment. All she could do was look to the next step, but looking at her favorite wand now in her hand and the double ridge between the shaft and 'handle' she thought she had this scene in hand.

_"I am Sade. I will hide no true wish behind its heart-safe doppleganger."_  She lifted the mast from its socket, folded the boom carefully against it, and then lashed this securely along one gunwale by way of a modification of the legbinder tie she'd been practicing on her bedmate rather than just tying like a sailor.

_"I am Sade. I will let no desire die of shame." S_ he untied the slender sheet-line from the end of the boom and wrapped it around and around the circular brace that together with the socket below held the mast at it's proper, and - she now realized - suggestive angle relative to the hull until the hole the mast passed through had been reduced to just barely pass her index finger twice over.

_"I am Sade. Wickedness is my soul."_ She started to be able to think about what she was doing, past the next step, and with this the lust in her started to take form, gathering. Her heart climbed for her throat the way it did when she was doing something _really_ kinky.

_"I am Sade. Darkness is my heart._ " With the remainder of the sheetline she tied in place the doubled and redoubled silken fabric of the suncloak through the hole, glittering now in the moonlight rather than the sun. There was a feeling, as of using her voice, as she chanted: she was getting louder.

_"I am Sade. Love is my breath."_ She loved this little boat and she loved being its captain, and at some point she was going to have to admit the place where this collided with the direction her studies had been taking since that first dreaming partner playing by the river so long ago. Tonight was the perfect night for it. 

_S_ he found her cunt slick already on the outside, as she tied the harness she'd knotted from the small, supple stay-lines of the toylike foresail around her hips and made the circle of rope over her entrance that made sense of her wand's ridged middle and angled, equally-phallic 'handle'.

Probably she ought to have predicted all this when on being given this little craft she'd replaced all of the rigging with succubus-silk bondage rope, despite the practical issues.

_"I am Sade. Playfulness is my eye."_ She'd known from the moment she laid eyes on it that this little craft was full of personality. How much time did she spend caring for it, tying things in place and taking it for a ride, coming back and carefully administering aftercare? How many times had she come to see it not to do anything at all but just for company? How many times had she chosen it for a bedmate? Sometimes she even thought she could see what it looked like, as a person, slender and graceful, delicate and beautiful. She was never sure if it was male or female - maybe it changed constantly like her preference changed - but for what she had in mind right now that didn't matter at all.

She tied the final knot and spread her legs to slip the wand in place.

_"I am Sade, and I know I want to!"_ Her voice rang out over the silent water, echoing back.

Gasping, a moan out loud, tears in her eyes and a sob of relief as it slid into her. She hadn't understood. It was all there in her textbooks, but she hadn't understood. It had only been a day since she'd come but the nectar had turned that into a thousand years except instead of deadening with time it was all just there waiting for her, built up, walled out by her conscious mind so she could keep her sanity and now she'd pierced that wall with the spreading of her lips and it was flooding through her. Shockwaves of tingling pleasure erupted through her as the handle slid home and knocked the knot she'd tied for exactly that purpose against her clit, nearly making her come with this one action.

She panted a moment, then, gasping to master herself against the feeling of the wand moving inside her as she shifted to reach down and lift the keg, she took a long, deep drink of the hot, intense nectar. Just for good measure. It was a profligate use of stores, but she kept going until she felt like she'd cry or go mad from the aphrodisacal overdose.

Moving to set down the keg told her how horribly right this last had gone: every sense seemed to have become terrifyingly overdriven, the moonlight was like noonday sun and she even swore it burned warm on her nipples as she turned them from shadow into moonlight. The wand inside her and rope against her clit were a glorious ache, not by way of the joy of a good hard fuck but by way of being simply too intense to bear. Somehow, impossibly, she was managing not to come, but she was _determined_ not to do that until the moment was right.

Perfect.

Slowly, carefully, making no sudden moves, she moved into position, taking hold of the frame that held the wrapped mast-brace in place like it was the hips of a bent-over lover with a perfect, shiny asshole glittering in the moonlight, lifted herself above, and plunged in, eyes shutting involuntarily from the sensations--

One thrust and she was lost. She pounded, drove herself into her love's hole again and again, feeling soft graceful hips moving in her hands to brace themselves against her assault, then she was coming, screaming out some wordless roar of claim and domination while yet feeling inside tracing through all the lust and strength a hot thread of tenderness at climaxing so quickly as if she was a boy who'd just ripened and then this was washed away too, lost in the torrent of her release as she dug her nails into those beautiful, curving graceful hips and told them whose they were. They moved, in response, opening, presenting, dedicated, intent to please their mistress. Achingly beautiful eyes turned back to look at her out of a sweet, pretty face, pressed down in worship against the bed but desperate to look at her and she was so shocked by their glory she forgot to order them back to downcastness. Lips she had to kiss, would kiss as soon as she was done ravaging this lovely being's ass parted to let out a tiny fearful sound of pleasure...

When it ended, her own nectar soaked the suncloak, and ropes, and had even overflowed down to pool in the lower mast-socket, glinting in the moonlight, and she was panting, spent, grinning, as she withdrew. She felt...full.

Inside her heart, curling loving tendrils down into her depths, was her seed.

It felt like she'd drunk a cup of flowers.

So obvious in the end. How could she have expected to find her dream on that hilltop or in another world when she'd been dreaming it into this little boat here for years? If only - hah, the irony - she could have been like one of those poor lost-planet waifs for whom the seed-ghosts would act on wishes they couldn't discover on their own.

But Rada, no, Rada was _educated,_ and, if she was honest, it wouldn't have been the same for her if she hadn't gotten to own this one for herself. Now that she _had..._

Slowly, carefully, as if in a dream, running through soul-opening exercises as she went, she undid everything, stowed the lines, squeezed her nectar out of the suncloak (inspection revealed it amazingly unharmed, perhaps the story that they were blessed so that they'd never be damaged by involvement in anything sufficiently kinky was true) and folded it to stow again along with the keg and her wand.

Her seed sat warm inside her, whispering wonderful ideas, turning in her mind's eye into beautiful creatures one after another, feeling her out. She made sure to stop and at least caress herself if not indulge the fantasy for a few moments, any time it did something she particularly liked. She called it by the name she'd never for some reason felt right to give to her little boat, and it responded by doing _something_ that made her moan aloud, like the spiritual equivalent of a worshipful kiss against her spread-open cunt. 

She thought, fantasizing, impatient to have this person in her...hands. She knew her facts: It could take summers and summers, but the shortest probable incubation was just under a single moon-cycle, remove a half-decan if you were educated, consented to the occasional terrors of the desires the seed-ghost would find inside you and make conscious for the seed's sake, living off nectar and not distracted by activities that were other than being a good incubator. 

(She definitely had a moon-cycle worth of nectar onboard, and where _else_  would she want to give birth to her Dream? After that, Pandemonium was just a quick sail through the mist...)

Incubations that implanted at the onset of ripening took longer than ones that happened later but were more likely to produce permanently-bonded Hollow Heart pairs with all of the wonderful intensity that implied.

Rada didn't _think_ she was a Hollow Heart, but you couldn't always tell until you met the right partner.

And then the seed was fully implanted and the seed-ghost nudged asking her to get properly started and she said yes and her seed showed her the face she'd vowed to kiss before again, kneeling hopefully and Rada barely managed to catch herself and collapse to the floor of the boat as the dreaming overwhelmed her...


End file.
